The Heart Won't Lie
by muchofthetime
Summary: When Sam, Dean, and Cas begin investigating the deaths of three angels, Dean is forced to accept that the relationship he thought was long-dead never truly died. Title is taken from the title of a Reba McEntire and Vince Gill song.
1. Chapter 1

_"Did you know," Dean repeats. _

_Cas stares, his eyes cold and dark, and so, so angry. "I have told you I did not," he says sharply. His lips draw together in a tight line as he regards the man he's loved unquestioningly, unconditionally, since he first laid a celestial hand on him, and the betrayal that settles in to Cas's fair features punches at Dean hard. "You believe that I am lying?"_

_There's a moment when Dean says nothing, and the temperature in the room seems to drop ten degrees._

_"I see."_

_"Cas-"_

_"I hunt every case with you. I lie in your bed, I make love to you, I am committed to you in every way. And still you do not trust me. You doubt my loyalties as though we have just met."_

_And Dean knows he should stop. The whisper in the back of his mind reminds him of ten million reasons and ways that Cas has proven himself to be completely and unflinchingly on their side, but Dean's never had a very active mouth filter so his retort rises effortlessly to his lips. "Yeah well, pardon me, but you loyaltie do seem to get called into question a lot more often than the average Joe's."_

_Cas exhales, sharp and low, a habit he could have picked up from either Winchester, and for just a moment Dean half-expects the angel to fly at him in a rage, throw him up against the wall the way he did so long ago. This motel room doesn't seem large enough to contain the utter fury radiating from Castiel and there is not an flicker of Sam's sad puppy eyes swimming in the pools of blue. "I am leaving," Cas says, his voice blank and a little reminiscent of the day he returned from Heaven's Bible Camp. It was the very first time he'd given up on Dean, accepted that their alliance was in direct conflict with his orders, and hearing it now freezes Dean to his core. And he wonders - he wonders - if maybe he is wrong about this whole thing._

_Cas's eyes move to him once more. He isn't sure if Cas is reading his mind, as he's been apt to do on occasion, and can hear Dean's doubts floating around in there, or if he's having doubts of his own. But he doesn't fly away or disappear. He waits, his head tilted to the side in a way that shatters Dean's heart._

_"So, go," Dean snaps, turning away so he doesn't have to watch as their relationship breaks in two. It's hard to believe that just three days ago he was telling his brother Don't be mad, Sammy, but there might come a day when Cas and I are ready to get out of this business. Lead a more quiet life, you know. Still hunt, just not all the time. And Sam had smiled, so bright and happy, like Dean had just confided his intention to propose, and if Dean had returned it, beaming a little himself, well. It doesn't matter now._

_"Fine," Cas whispers, a touch of sadness lacing his voice, chasing away the anger. "I will return when-"_

_"Don't." Dean swallows thickly. "Don't return at all. Sam and I can handle whatever demons or monsters or witches that cross our paths. We were doing fine before we met you, and, honestly, double-crossing angels are a little more trouble than they're worth."_

_He's not sure what he expects. Maybe more arguments of his innocence, maybe stunned silence. But then Cas is all in his personal space, body heat pulsing against Dean's own, and he leans up to brush his lips to Dean's, soft, gentle, loving. It's a goodbye, as clearly as if Cas is saying the word, and Dean can't help returning the kiss, knowing it's their last. He's always been a little powerless when it comes to Castiel. _

_When he opens his eyes, the angel is gone._

* * *

The moment Sam enters their motel room, Dean knows something is very wrong.

His little brother has always had a decent poker face. He likes to tease him about it - big brother's prerogative and all - but the truth is that if it was half as bad as Dean is always claiming, Sam wouldn't be the excellent hunter that he is, and wouldn't have been able to pull the wool over Dean's eyes during his secret meet-ups with Ruby, when the demon was still a part of their entourage. So the fact that his face is pale, his eyes bright with worry, sends a dart of fear straight to Dean's gut. "Sam, what is it," he demands.

Sam looks over at him, placing the six-pack that he'd gone to the store for on the table. "While I was out, Garth called," he begins carefully. Somehow his soothing tone sets Dean even more on edge. "He said . . . that, uh, someone's been killing-" He pauses, and Dean knows what he's going to say, because there's only one species that would make Sam react like this.

"Angels."

Sam nods.

Dean's blood runs cold. "Anyone we know," he asks, trying to keep his voice from shaking, and failing magnificently.

"Garth wasn't sure," Sam answers quietly. "The hunter that told him about it, you know, he hasn't met . . ." He almost seems afraid to say the name out loud, and though it's been months since Dean has seen his ex, he can't find the strength to say it either. Both brothers leave the sentence hanging in the air. "The last one was a few hundred miles away, and there are a couple of hunters closer than us, but he thought we might want the job. Considering."

Immediately Dean begins throwing his clothes into his duffle, and he tosses Sam's bag in his general direction. "Get packing, Sammy. We're on the road in ten."

* * *

The drive to Charlotte, North Carolina seems endless, and with each passing minute, Dean can feel himself teetering closer and closer to panic. Ever since Cas disappeared this is the fear that has kept him up at night, the certainty that if something were to happen to Cas, if he were to get killed at the hands of another angel, or demon, or hunter, even, that Dean wouldn't be there or, worse still, that he wouldn't even know. And he knows without a doubt that their relationship is over, he's gotten that message loud and clear, but it doesn't mean that the idea of Cas lying lifeless on a street somewhere doesn't terrify him beyond all reason.

As the _Welcome to Charlotte_ sign comes into view, he feels Sam turn concerned eyes on him. "Dean, we don't even know anything yet," he says gently. "I'm sure Cas is fine."

"Yeah," is all Dean can muster. He follows the signs to the hospital, relieved when Sam falls silent, and by the time they finally pull into the parking deck at Carolina's Medical Center, Dean feels like he could explode any moment. He parks the Impala in the first available space, and it takes every once of his self control to keep from full-o runnin to the entrance. Nevertheless, if he's walking a little faster than normal, Sam pretends not to notice.

The hospital is a flurry of activity when they pass through the entrance. The latest angel was discovered in the lobby, and while a quick look around tells both Winchesters that they have since carted the body away, authorities continue to mill around, taking pictures of the black wings, scorched into the floor. (Dean feels revulsion rise in this throat. _Don't be Cas. Please don't be Cas._)

A police officer, older, balding, stops them as they get close. "Sorry, fellas, this is a crime scene."

Sam and Dean both flash their F.B.I badges. "Alonzo Mosely, F.B.I.," Dean says. He gestures to Sam. "My partner, Eddie Moscone."

"Martin Crane," introduces the officer. He sighs and steps back so Sam and Dean can get a closer look at the marks on the floor. "Gotta say, this whole thing is a mystery."

Dean stoops, and brushes his fingertips along the remnants of the angel wings. His throat closes up fearfully, so he's glad when Sam takes point.

"You guys have any theories?"

"Not a one. The hospital surveillance went apeshit at some point, so there's no footage of when the guy was killed, and no witnesses are coming forward. Kinda weird. Big place like this, you would think someone would have seen something, but all the employees on this floor say the same thing. There was no one there, and then a second later there was a dead guy on floor, surrounded by black wings. Fucking weird."

Sam clears his throat. "What did the guy look like?"

"Well, we assume he was killed by the stab wound to his heart, but we won't know for sure until-"

"No, I mean, what did he look like? Was he-" Sam glances down at Dean, who stands slowly. "Tall? Short? Light hair? Dark?"

Officer Crane raises his eyebrows. "Young guy, mid-thirties, probably."

Dean stops breathing.

"Medium height, blond."

_Blond_. And Dean can breathe again. At least he knows that the scorch marks at his feet don't belong to Cas, though he won't really feel better until he's checked out the other two cases Garth told them about on their way here. He's tempted to leave right now, truth be told.

"Let me ask you boys," Crane says, "it customary to send three F.B.I agents for one murder? Kinda overkill, don't you think?"

"Three," Sam and Dean repeat together.

"Right." Crane gives a small chuckle. "Though that other guy is little weird. Can't really blame them for sending in two more for backup. Probably just didn't want to miss anything?"

Dean's been doing this a long time, and he has learned to trust his instincts, rely on them when he can't be sure of what his mind his telling him. And right now, his instincts are sending off alarms inside his head so loud that he can barely think. He turns to Sam, trying to read his expression, trying to see if it reflects Dean's suspicion. Hope is starting to bubble beneath his skin, and hope is such a dangerous thing in this business.

But Sam is looking pretty interested too. "When you say weird . . ."

Crane grins. "Maybe you should just meet him," he says, and he takes a couple of steps forward, and it's only then, as they're drawing close, that Dean catches sight of the long trenchcoat, and the dark-haired man wearing it. The man's back is turned, he's talking to another cop, but Dean's heart starts sputtering out of control because he knows that trenchcoat, better than he knows his own skin. He's slipped it off Castiel's shoulders enough times to have memorized every inch of it - every crease, every fold.

"Agent Lennon," says Crane, and the man turns, and suddenly Dean is looking into the bluest eyes that have ever existed, eyes he hasn't seen in almost a half of a year,

And Sam's the one that says it because Dean can't speak, and he's not sure how long it will be until he finds his voice. "Cas?"


	2. Chapter 2

_"He's dead," Dean says._

_Sam looks up from his laptop, and over at his brother, and he takes in the worried lines sketched across Dean's features, the tired frown pulling at his mouth. He looks exhausted, like he hasn't slept in days, and Sam's hit with rush of sympathy. "He's not dead."_

_"Like you would have any idea," Dean snaps. He crosses the room, then throws the refrigerator door open and grabs two bottles of beer. He slams the one for Sam down onto the desk so hard that Sam's pretty surprised when it doesn't shatter. "Two fucking months since we've heard so much as a word from him." He takes a swallow, two, then continues his tirade. "It shouldn't matter whether we're . . ." He clears his throat unable to finish that line of thought. "He could at least let us know he's alive."_

_Sam's not sure what to say to that, so he remains silent._

_"We were friends for years." And Dean's losing the fight in him as quickly as it had flared up. He glares at Sam defensively. "You don't stop caring about someone just because you're not together."_

_"I know," Sam answers quickly. But Dean's still looking at him like he's expecting more of a response than that, so he continues carefully. "Maybe it's just that . . . You know. You're broken up. And people who've broken up don't usually check in with each other."_

_A shadow passes over Dean's face. "So you call him."_

_Sam blinks. "What?"_

_"If I'm the problem. If he's not coming down here because of me, and he's still pissed about all that stuff with-" He breathes out in frustration. "I have to know he's okay. Okay?"_

_It's a testament to how deep his fear runs that he's even saying anything at all, and Sam finds himself agreeing almost immediately. Honestly, what else is he supposed to do? "Fine."_

_Dean nods shortly. "Good. I'll be outside."_

_Of course he would mean now. But Sam doesn't argue when Dean steps out into the night air, the door clicking softly shut behind him. He waits a moment, kinda hoping Cas will appear all on his own, but when only the ticking of the seconds hand on his watch meets his ears, he sighs and lowers his eyes._

_"Castiel," he begins, a little edgily. "If you're listening, I would really appreciate it if you could make an appearance down here. We haven't seen you in a while and-"_

_"Hello, Sam."_

_His head snaps up, and he's looking at the only angel he's ever been able to call a friend, relief washing over him in waves. For the first time he realizes that there's a chance he's been a little concerned as well. "Castiel," he greets._

_"I'm sorry to have worried you with my absence," Cas says softly. "I wasn't sure if I should come. I have never been broken up before."_

_"It's okay." Sam gets to his feet, and as he steps closer he gets a good look at the sadness bleeding through the bright blue eyes, the defeated line of his shoulders. He's known Cas for a long time, and he hasn't looked this broken since he was standing in a ring of fire, his attention focused solely on the betrayal on his best friend's face. Words Sam swore to himself he wouldn't say rise in his throat. "Cas, can't you guys just-"_

_"Did you know Dean's been calling for me," Cas asks. He's staring at a spot in the wall and doesn't seem to have heard Sam at all._

_Sam gives a slow nod. "I thought he probably was. But he never said."_

_"He says he . . . Feels regret about our fight. That he should have believed me from the beginning." He falls silent for a moment, his head tilting to the side in a way that is very familiar. "It has taken Dean some time, but he has admitted his mistake. He has asked me to reconsider our separation, and I would very much like to do that. I-" He flushes a scarlet red. "I miss him. But I'm wondering why his opinion has changed. He has only been calling for me for a week."_

_The question is so not what Sam is expecting that he's unable to school his features in time, and he's forced to watch as Cas processes what he's seeing. When the angel speaks again, his voice is low and cold._

_"I see. You have spoken to my brother."_

_Sam searches for words, but he can think of nothing he can say that will make this better._

_"You have spoken to my brother and he's corroborated my story, and that is why Dean has suddenly decided that my word is worth something again." He gives a harsh, mirthless laugh "There was a time when I was the only angel your brother trusted. And now I am the one that he does not."_

_"Cas-"_

_"Please tell Dean that I will not go this long again without letting him know that I am alive." And then he disappears to the sound of flapping wings._

_Exactly thirty days later Sam wakes to see Dean gripping something carefully between his fingers, and when he holds it up Sam realizes it's a small, black feather._

_It's the first of four._

* * *

"Cas," Crane repeats in confusion. "I thought his name was John."

"It . . . Well, it is." Sam steals a glance to his left, and takes note of the stricken expression on his brother's face. So, he's not going to be much help. "We used to work together. It's, uh, a nickname."

"A nickname?"

"Right."

"What the hell is Cas short for?"

Cas, who, through this awkward exchange, has given no real indication that he has been listening to anything other than the two hundred questions written across Dean's eyes, turns to Officer Crane. "Please leave, and forget you ever saw us here."

Crane drifts away without another word, and Sam's eyebrows go up. "I forgot how convenient having an angel for backup could be," he says with an impressed smile. "Glad you're okay, man."

Cas inclines his head. "Thank you, Sam," he answers, and, as though by magnetic force, his gaze moves back to Dean.

There was a time, a time that feels like a whole lifetime ago, when Sam would have immediately dismissed the idea of Dean and Cas being together as impossible. Not because the feelings weren't there, (because there were so _obviously _feelings there) but because Dean, it was becoming clearer and clearer, was absolutely hellbent on keeping himself as miserable as possible. And Sam knew where that feeling came from, understood that it was guilt over his last ten years in hell that kept Dean from striving for something a little better than just getting by, but he'd hoped that Dean would eventually find a way to move past it.

Though he hadn't held his breath.

But then Dean had surprised them all, and managed to put aside all of the whateverthehellitwas that was keeping him so determinedly in the self-destruction with a drop of self-loathing camp, and the fact that he'd come out on the other side with Castiel on his arm was nothing short of a miracle. And the most amazing, most bewildering, fact of all was that after everything - after their disastrous first meeting, the Apocalypse, after archangel vessels and Lucifer and Leviathan, betrayal and lies, after Purgatory - Dean and Cas had found a way to get closer to happiness than any of them had ever been.

It hadn't been easy, even Sam could see that. There were nights when Dean would storm into the room, twist open a beer, and say nothing else the rest of the night, his eyes tight with unexpressed anger. But far more often were the affectionate eye-rolls when Cas was scrunching up his nose at Dean's dinner choices, the extra-close scrutiny after a dangerous hunt, and, most tellingly, the laughter. So absent from their lives that when it became commonplace it was easy to get used to.

Sam's thinking about all of this when he's overcome with sudden determination. This is ridiculous, he decides, because, okay, Dean isn't remotely perfect - he goes from zero to pissed off in two seconds flat, he's stubborn, and he almost always thinks his ideas are better than anyone else's (God included) - but Cas had loved him, far more fiercely than anyone before, and he had been the one to see the man for everything he truly was.

But it's not just about his brother; Cas is Sam's friend. He'd die for him in a heartbeat, no questions asked, and Sam remembers a time when Cas used to smile. Not the wide, slightly deranged smile Dean wore: small, a half-smile at best, but there and very real. The man standing in front of him looks like he's never even seen one.

"You're here investigating the angels' deaths," he asks, a plan forming in his mind. He tries not to think about just how large of a bitch-fit Dean is going to have once they're alone.

There's a beat, then, "I would have thought that was obvious." He doesn't turn, and Sam has to roll his eyes.

"Great," he says, maybe a little too enthusiastically because Dean tears his attention from his ex and shoots Sam a suspicious frown. He pretends not to notice and barrels on. "We should work together."

Just like that, Dean catches on, and there's an undertone of warning as he mutters, "Sam."

"You want to work together." Cas clears his throat. "I appreciate the offer but I don't need help."

But Sam isn't to be deterred. "Look, you guys have a history-"

"Okay, really, Sam-"

"Dean, it's not like it's a secret. But, history or not, work like this, we're going to cross paths. And I don't know if you remember, but once upon a time, we made a pretty good team."

Something flickers across Cas's face. Affection, maybe. "I remember," he says, so quietly Sam barely hears it.

"Cas," Dean begins, speaking to his ex for the first time. He lifts his hand as though to rest it on Cas's shoulder, but then he curls it into a fist, and returns it to his side. "You don't have to agree to this. We'll go, if that's what you want."

Sam feels a flash of annoyance. Why doesn't Dean understand that he's trying to help the stupid son of a bitch?

"It-" Cas exhales. Sort of. "If you would like to put the past behind us for this case, I have no objection." He glances at Dean. "Do you want to attempt this? I would understand, as well, if you-"

"It's fine," Dean assures him. Sam has to fight back a victorious smirk. "We've got a reservation at a motel off Independence Blvd. Want to meet us there in a half hour? Give us time to get some grub."

The corners of Cas's lips twitch. "Yes, please eat. I haven't forgotten what it's like, trying to discuss a case with a hungry Dean Winchester."

* * *

They've barely shut the doors to the car when Dean starts. "I'm onto you, little brother," he says, as he pulls out of the parking deck, and heads in the direction of their motel.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Sam protests. His words sound fake to even his own ears, which he supposes is not really a good thing, but if he's being honest with himself, he knows he's not really trying here. He feels no shame, and he's already decided that this is just the beginning.

"Right. So you weren't playing matchmaker back there?"

He shrugs. "Not everything is about you."

"Whatever, Sammy." And Dean says nothing else until they pull into the McDonald's Drive-Thru.


End file.
